The Naked Scream
by mnfowler
Summary: This story takes place in an alternate universe in which Jerry Robinson is a psychotherapist instead of a dentist, as originally intended when the show was conceived. Jerry's latest trendy '70s therapy technique is getting on everyone's nerves.


Carol Kester's nerves stood on end as she tried to concentrate on typing a report for Dr. Hartley. She tried to ignore the screaming coming in piercing bursts from Jerry's office, but she couldn't. The noise was breaking her concentration so badly that she was making mistakes that she knew she would never make ordinarily. Fortunately, her IBM Selectric II allowed her to type over her mistakes with a correction ribbon, but having to do it over and over and over was making her feel the need for her own therapy—or a stiff drink.

When she was able to think—which was rare during Jerry's office hours—Carol sometimes mused about what it would be like if Jerry were a dentist instead of some kind of New Age psychotherapist. Such screaming was supposed to be a sign that Jerry was at the top of the trendy heap in psychotherapy, but it would spell the end of any dentist's practice.

She was marking her dictation notes with a pencil when a particularly loud scream startled her so much that her pencil spun end over end and flew out of her hand. Resolved to put a stop to this situation, she stood up and marched toward the door of Jerry's office, which was marked "Jerry Robinson, M.A., Lic. Psych." Jerry had had this same office for a decade. At the time that he got his psychologist's license, a Ph.D. degree had not been required. In contrast, Dr. Robert Hartley, whose office was closer to Carol's desk but never emitted the kind of screams that came from Jerry's, had earned a Ph.D. at about the same time Jerry earned his Master's. Bob could have gotten his license by stopping short of his doctorate, too, but he hadn't. Carol admired Bob for his dedication, although she did sometimes wonder how he could help people when he was so neurotic himself.

Jerry was a different kettle of fish. While Jerry was not as "doctored up" as Bob—as Jerry often said, but in a good-natured way that betrayed neither jealousy nor condescension—he seemed to make up for his academic shortcomings by being more open and friendly. It seemed to make a difference in his patients. They always seemed to come out of his office with a greater confidence than when they went in, as if they felt they could take whatever life hurled at them after seeing Jerry. In contrast, Bob's patients seemed to come out of his office—if somewhat happier than when they went in—nevertheless, looking around the corner for a grand piano to fall on them and spoil whatever gains they had made in the past hour. At the same time, Jerry had his own kind of dedication to his continuing education. He was always going away for workshops at places like the Gestalt Institute of Cleveland, the Institute for Bioenergetic Analysis, and the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, California. It was all very trendy, but his latest kick, primal scream therapy, had reached and gone beyond the limit as far as Carol was concerned.

As Carol approached Jerry's office, Bob's office door opened and Michelle Nardo came running out. She did not even take the elevator but went for the stairs.

"Uh... Uh," said Bob, coming out of his office on her heels. "M-miss Nardo, come back."

"No, no!" Michelle said without turning around. "I can't stand that screaming. I'll never come back here. I'm going to find another therapist somewhere where they don't torture patients."

"B-but M-miss N-nardo," sputtered Bob. "I assure you. No one is being tortured."

Michelle put her hand on the knob of the door to the stairwell and turned to face the room as if for the last time. "That's what you say, but have you ever seen a patient come out of that office alive?" Bob hesitated, so Michelle added, "Well?"

"I-I can't say that I have, b-but Jerry has only been practicing this new therapy for a couple of weeks, a-and I haven't been in the reception area w-when anyone was leaving."

"Hah!" cried Michelle, simultaneously scoffing and triumphing. She shoved the door open and dashed down the stairs as fast as her chubby frame would carry her.

Dr. Tupperman also came down the hallway in quick time toward Jerry's office. "Can't anyone do something about that racket?" he said. Looking imploringly at Bob he added, "Can't Jerry be disbarred or defrocked or whatever it is you do to psychologists when they go beyond the pale?"

"I-I'm afraid it's not that easy," said Bob. "P-primal therapy is a new therapy that has not yet generated enough literature to determine whether i-it's helpful or d-detrimental."

"Detrimental?" said Tupperman. "It's detrimental to my nerves and to my patients' nerves. Do you realize how hard it is even under normal circumstances to get patients to make specimens in the office?"

"Are you saying your patients are too nervous to pee?" Carol offered.

"Wouldn't you be with that screaming going on?"

"Come to think of it, I've been holding it in all day and only going at home," said Carol.

Tupperman turned to Bob. "See what I mean?"

At that moment, the door of Jerry's office opened and a man who was about 35 and wearing a plaid turtleneck sweater and a half-goofy, half-beatific grin walked out with Jerry standing behind him in the doorway. He wore a turtleneck, too. This one was red but was mostly covered by a green and red dashiki. Around his neck, Jerry wore three necklaces made from different materials. Only one was metal chain and another was leather. Each necklace featured a different symbol, including an ankh and a yin-yang symbol. The three people standing in the reception area had not noticed that the screaming they were complaining about had actually stopped a good minute earlier.

"Really good work today, Ben," Jerry was saying. "See you next Thursday?"

"You bet, Jerry," said Ben. "I can't tell you how ready to face the world I feel after our sessions."

"Well, primal therapy means not having to put it into words, Ben." They exchanged knowing looks and chuckles at this. Then Jerry said, "See you next week."

"Bye, Jer," Ben said as he headed toward the elevators and noticed the clutch of Jerry's colleagues. "Isn't he a great guy?" he asked as he passed them, but the elevator door had just opened, and Ben glided in without waiting for the gathering either to demur or confirm.

"Hi, guys," said Jerry. "What's going on?"

Tupperman looked at Bob as if this was uniquely his job since he and Jerry were technically in the same profession.

"W-well, Jerry," Bob began, "we've been noticing that the decibel level coming from your office has been p-pretty high lately."

"Yeah, I'm doing primal scream."

"No kidding," said Tupperman.

Bob shot Tupperman a look. "Y-you wanna do this?"

"Forget I said anything," said Tupperman.

"Jerry," Bob began again, "I'm afraid we're going to have to put our foot down about the noise from your office. It's getting on everyone's nerves. As-as a matter of fact, one of my patients was so upset by it that she just quit therapy, and Carol has been so upset she's been making more mistakes than usual."

"But I always correct them," said Carol.

"W-well," said Bob slowly, "if I hadn't caught it, there was that letter that almost went out yesterday asking my billing service to kill my patients."

Carol thought a moment. "Oh, that was supposed to say 'bill' your patients."

Tupperman poked Bob's arm and directed him toward Jerry and the matter at hand.

"Oh, and besides that," added Bob, "Dr. Tupperman's patients can't pee."

"Gee, I'm sorry guys," said Jerry. "I guess I really should get my office soundproofed, shouldn't I?"

"Soundproofing might not be enough," said Tupperman. "Besides, you can't install soundproofing in time for your next patient, can you?" He looked around. "When is your next patient due?"

Jerry looked at his watch. "It's almost five o'clock. My next patient isn't due until tomorrow morning at eight."

"Thank God for small blessings," said Tupperman, "but you can't put in soundproofing over night. What are you going to do to cut down the noise tomorrow?"

Jerry thought a moment and then snapped his fingers. "I know what. My primal therapy guru has an office across town. It's completely soundproofed. I'll call all my patients and tell them from now on to meet me there. How's that?"

"S-sounds like a great solution to me," said Bob. "That O.K. with you Bernie?"

"Sounds fine," said Tupperman.

"I'll help you call your patients," said Carol. "We'll divide up the list. It'll go quicker."

"That'd be great. Thanks, Carol."

A week later, Bob was leaving his office for the day. "Good night, Carol."

"Good night, Dr. Hartley."

When the elevator opened, Jerry stepped out.

"Hi, Bob," he said blithely.

"J-jerry," said Bob, "i-it seems like I haven't seen you for days."

"You haven't, Bob. I've been spending most of the week seeing my patients at the Chicago Primal Therapy Institute."

"Oh, gee, Jerry, I-I'm sort of feeling guilty about my part in banishing you from your own office."

"Oh, don't feel bad, Bob. It's been great for me and my patients to be in a space where we really feel we can let loose, you know?"

"I-I suppose, but, Jerry, I feel really bad about the fact that you're paying rent on your office, but you aren't using it anymore. I hope you aren't going to end up moving out, b-because I'd miss you. I mean, we all would."

"You bet we would," said Carol.

"Well, that's great of you guys to say, but don't worry. I'm not giving up my office. As a matter of fact, Bob, I was hoping to run into you. Did I tell you that I've just been certified as a family therapist?"

"Uh, come to think it, Jerry, I think you did, but it's hard to keep track of all the innovative techniques you're always studying."

"Well, I'm seeing my first family on Friday afternoon at four, and I'm going to use my office here for family therapy."

"Th-that sounds very exciting, Jerry. I've read good things about family therapy, a-and I'm very proud of you for going into the field."

"Thanks, Bob, but here's the thing. I have this regular patient. Actually, she's a fairly new patient, and she's kind of fragile right now. She needs therapy more than once a week, and I've been seeing her Monday, Wednesday and Friday."

"I-I know what you mean. That's necessary with some patients. Sometimes."

"Yeah. So, Bob, I was wondering if you could maybe see her Friday, if you can fit her into your schedule. I'll be able to straighten out my scheduling conflicts in time for her next session."

"W-well, Carol might have a better handle on my schedule, but I think I have some time free at four o'clock on Friday."

"That's right," said Carol.

"Will that work, Jerry?"

"Yeah, perfect, Bob. Thanks a lot. I'll give her a call and tell her to come here to see you instead."

"Oh, ah, ah, Jerry. I just thought of something. This patient, ah, is she a primal screamer—or—or whatever you call your patients?"

"Yes, she is, Bob. Oh, I get your concern. Will she come into your office and scream? Well, she's actually new to primal therapy, but she's been in therapy before. As a matter of fact, I gather she was in therapy with her previous therapist for a long time. She says he didn't help much."

"Oh, th-that's too bad. Well, I won't try to poach your patient from you, but maybe she'll find out that just talking to somebody doesn't have to be a negative experience."

"That would be a positive, Bob, and you know I'm always open to the positive. Thanks again."

"You-you're welcome, Jerry."

Friday afternoon, Bob walked out of his office at five minutes to four and looked around.

"No sign of Jerry's patient?" Bob asked Carol.

"No. No sign of Jerry, either, whatever that's about. I mean, I gather that his appointment with that family is still on, but I haven't heard any news."

"This whole thing was so last minute," said Bob nervously, "I didn't even think to ask what his patient's name is."

"I didn't think of that, either," allowed Carol.

Bob turned to stare at the elevator, and, as if he had conjured it, the elevator door opened, and out stepped Michelle Nardo.

"M-Michelle," said Bob, "w-what are you doing here? I thought you'd gone and I'd never see you again."

"Me neither," said Carol, though not loudly. "Especially after I told the billing service to kill you."

"What?" said Michelle apprehensively.

"Oh, nothing. I just thought you would never pay the bill we sent you."

"Oh, that's because of my father. He thinks that if you stop going to somebody you can not pay them for the last appointment."

"Carol," said Bob, "this isn't the time to discuss that." Leading Michelle into his office, Bob said, "I only have a few minutes to spare because I'm expecting a new patient, but I wanna talk to you." Bob looked at his watch and frowned. "Carol, can you have Jerry's patient wait just a couple of minutes while I talk to Michelle?" He closed the door behind them without waiting for Carol to reply.

"But Dr. Hartley," said Michelle, taking her seat in the middle of the couch as if no time since their last session had lapsed, "I am Jerry's patient."

"Huh?" said Bob sitting in his own chair a bit heavily. "How can that be? You ran out of here specifically because you were upset about primal screaming, and then you went to a primal scream therapist?"

"Well, I didn't know at first that it was the screaming therapy. When I first called Jerry, he was still in this building, but when I talked to him on the phone to set up my first appointment, he told me to go to the Primal Therapy Institute. I wasn't sure what that was, at the time, but I was actually a little relieved not to be in this same building because it would have been awkward to run into you. Then we started the first session, and I was too scared to say I didn't want to do it, but then I started screaming and, you know what? It's not as scary when you're doing the screaming as it is when somebody else is."

"S-so, you like primal therapy?"

"Oh, I prefer it. Now I can't do therapy without screaming."

In the reception area, both elevator doors opened just three seconds apart. Jerry got off of the first one and a family of three got off the second. The family consisted of a frumpy man and a frumpy woman and a boy who was, if anything, frumpier than either of his parents.

Upon spying them, Jerry introduced himself and led them toward his office. The boy and his father went in first. Then Jerry turned to face the mother as she caught up. Jerry stood with his hand on the doorknob about to usher her into his office. It was at that moment that a piercing woman's scream came through the door of Bob's office and vibrated through the reception area.

The mother immediately became apprehensive and looked around. Then she turned back to Jerry and asked, "Are we going to be doing that?"

"Nah," said Jerry opening the door wider for her. "I think that kinda stuff is crazy."

END


End file.
